Ellie had never understood the thrill of Formula 1. To her, it was just fast cars zooming around in loops, tire smoke, and men shouting over the roar of engines. Her brother, Liam, was obsessed—he lived for race weekends, idolized drivers, and could talk about tire strategies for hours.
So when he won two VIP passes to the Monaco Grand Prix through some online contest, he practically begged Ellie to come with him.
"Come on," he pleaded. "It's Monaco! Glitz, yachts, and Lando Norris."
"Who?" Ellie had asked, raising an eyebrow.
Liam had gaped like she'd committed a cardinal sin. "You don't know Lando Norris? McLaren driver, fastest guy in the rain, absolute legend?"
"I know McLaren makes cars. That's it."
But the idea of Monaco intrigued her—the coast, the glamour, the chance to escape the grind of her 9-to-5 job in London. Maybe, just maybe, there was something exciting in seeing people chase corners at 200 miles per hour.
And so, she found herself standing in the paddock on a sun-soaked Saturday, wearing a lanyard that felt absurdly out of place against her simple summer dress.
Liam was in heaven. He bounced from garage to garage, snagging autographs, wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store.
Ellie wandered away, sipping champagne someone had handed her, taking in the spectacle. Celebrities mingled, mechanics hustled, and everywhere, there was that electric buzz of anticipation.
"Lost or just avoiding the fanboys?" a voice said behind her.
She turned, half-smiling, and came face-to-face with Lando Norris.
She recognized him—not because of Liam's endless rants, but from the giant posters and screens plastered around the circuit. He was younger than she expected, with a mop of dark curls peeking from under a cap, and a grin that managed to be both mischievous and self-deprecating.
"Option B," Ellie said, raising her glass. "They're relentless."
Lando laughed, leaning against a railing. "You don't strike me as the F1 type."
"I'm not. I'm more... accidental tourist."
"Well, welcome to the madness. First race?"
She nodded. "First and probably only. I don't really get it—the obsession, I mean."
He tilted his head, thoughtful. "It's hard to explain. You either feel it or you don't."
Ellie shrugged. "Convince me."
Lando smirked. "You free after the race?"
By the time the checkered flag waved and engines roared their final notes, Ellie found herself on the deck of a yacht. Not just any yacht—a sleek, luxurious behemoth anchored in the harbor, with lights twinkling off the water and music thumping in the background.
She didn't know how Lando had managed to pull her away from the chaos, but suddenly she was there, barefoot, the Mediterranean lapping gently against the hull, with Monaco glittering behind them.
"You okay with heights?" he asked, gesturing to a ladder.
Ellie blinked. "Are we climbing?"
He grinned. "Trust me."
They climbed, up to the top deck, far from the noise of the party below. The sea stretched out endlessly, the moon casting silver across its surface.
Lando handed her a soda. "No champagne. You might think we celebrate with champagne showers, but mostly we just want sugar and peace."
She took it, leaning on the railing. "So, this is the F1 life?"
He chuckled. "Part of it. The fun part."
Ellie glanced at him. "And the rest?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Pressure. Noise. Constant travel. People expecting you to be perfect. One mistake and it's headlines."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It can be," he admitted. "But when I'm in the car... everything else disappears. It's just the track, the car, the moment. It's freedom."
She watched him as he spoke—not the superstar persona, but the person beneath it. There was something magnetic about him, not just the fame or the smile, but the way he came alive talking about racing.
"You really love it," she said.
"I do," he said, softly. "It's not just speed. It's precision. It's risk. It's knowing the limit and pushing just past it."
Ellie sipped her drink, letting his words sink in. Maybe there was more to this sport than she'd thought.
The next day, Ellie and Liam were scheduled to fly back to London. She woke early, the sea breeze rustling the curtains in her hotel room. Her phone buzzed—an unknown number.
Lando: Up for a ride? Meet me at the paddock, 9 AM.
She hesitated, then smiled. Why not?
The car was low, sleek, orange and black. A McLaren road car—not a race car, but close enough. Lando handed her a helmet.
"This isn't legal, is it?" she asked, eyeing the machine.
"We'll keep it civilized... mostly."
The roads above Monaco wound through the mountains, narrow and treacherous. As they took off, Ellie felt her heart leap into her throat. Lando drove effortlessly, hands light on the wheel, eyes focused, body relaxed.
The car danced through corners, the engine roaring, the wind tearing through her hair.
It was terrifying.
And exhilarating.
As they climbed higher, the city shrinking behind them, Ellie laughed—genuine, wild, unfiltered. She hadn't felt that alive in years.
At a lookout point, they stopped. The view was breathtaking—the sea, the cliffs, the tiny circuit far below.
Ellie turned to him, breathless. "Okay. I get it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"The obsession. The speed. The freedom."
Lando smiled, pulling off his helmet. "Told you."
They kept in touch after that. Messages turned into calls, calls into visits. Lando's schedule was insane—races across the world, training camps, media days—but somehow, they made it work.
Ellie flew out to Silverstone, then to Spa. She watched from the paddock, cheering louder than she thought possible.
They weren't official—labels felt too heavy. But there was something real there, something electric.
One night, after a race in Monza, they sat under the stars, his hand wrapped around hers.
"You ever think about slowing down?" Ellie asked.
Lando looked at her, thoughtful. "Sometimes. But not yet. There's still corners I haven't chased."
She nodded. "I get that."
He squeezed her hand. "But when I do... I hope you're still here."
Ellie smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."
Life was unpredictable. The world of F1 was fast, chaotic, and demanding. But in the midst of it, Ellie had found something unexpected—a connection forged not in the roar of engines, but in the quiet moments between.
She'd stepped into his world, skeptical and unsure, and somewhere between the start and the finish line, she'd fallen—not just for the sport, but for the driver who'd shown her how beautiful chasing corners could be.
And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to chase a few of her own.
